


from inexistence.

by Yui_Miyamoto



Category: Tenkuu no Escaflowne | The Vision of Escaflowne
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-26
Updated: 2005-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:55:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29052492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yui_Miyamoto/pseuds/Yui_Miyamoto
Summary: Van thinks of the first time he opened his wings…
Relationships: Van Fanel/Kanzaki Hitomi
Kudos: 1





	from inexistence.

**Disclaimer - Escaflowne isn’t mine.  
  
  
Is that why these wings aren’t meant to fly? They’re there. They’re aching and they hurt. I know they’ve been there for a while, but I cringed when they came out. I was frightened because no one told me what they were.  
And now you’re telling me I’m a demon because of these wings?  
  
What did they ever do to hurt you?**  
  
Even though she has came to his aid, the only thing that he could do was cry. She wanted to protect him, but from what? Himself? His own nature? It’s impossible to do that, but mothers tried their best, didn’t they? To not repeat what someone else had done, especially themselves, they attempted to cover themselves in their own shadows, but where were the shades when there was no one to measure against the light?  
“Why are they so bad?” He wanted to be a good kid that didn’t question anything because he was smart and respectful, but when he wanted to ask, there was nothing that really comes out of his mouth. Instead it came out through all of his body. He wanted to go to his brother, but he probably wouldn’t have given an answer. Instead, he’d probably pose the same question to him again and the boy would have become even more confused because he was to figure it out for himself. Whenever the issue wasn’t something that anyone would have enjoyed discussing, it was a ‘non-’ thing. That one time when the boy tried to talk to his brother about why there was a war in the first place, it was exactly at that moment when his father firmly gripped onto his small shoulder, almost pinching it out of reflex to the mention of that terrible issue that was as silent and resilient as a plague.  
But why…why couldn’t those words come out when it racked his body, making it shiver harder than a tree in the winter when the pile of snow came off its branches?  
  
“You can’t fly by will…” she whispered into his ear.  
  
But when he had looked at his mother’s wings when he finally opened his eyes, they were absolutely sparkling in radiance under the pale light coming through the windows of that wide, stone-like ballroom. He wanted to touch them…  
  
 **It would be different, wouldn’t it, Haha-ue?**  
  
“Just this once, Van,“ she softly instructed as the tapping of his small feet became slightly louder when he walked closer to her. He ran his fingers through the feathers that were whiter than even the flower petals erased of color.  
  
But when she retracted them, there was nothing but small droplets of his tears falling from her wings. She knelt down and turned around to hold him.  
Sitting down, she hugged him like when he was a baby in her arms.  
  
Surely, they couldn’t be demons…  
But the villagers’ voices kept on needling into his eardrums, poking them until he could feel them gushing with invisible blood. Over and over, the child couldn’t understand how something so pretty could be a curse?  
  
She didn’t want to explain anything and so she held him tightly.  
His mother was going to probably keep it to her grave because she couldn’t possibly tell what it all meant. How could she have asked him to remember what everyone else wanted him to forget?  
  
Even when she held his hand before she died, she didn’t say anything. And finally, when his tears dried drop by drop, he looked around confused but knew that he’d never get that answer he wanted.  
  
He had to find it for himself.  
  
Years later, when he was allowed to leave the unspoken, inadvertent house arrest, Van found himself kneeling over the lake where his mother and father both met. Or was it somewhere that looked exactly like it?  
He took off his gloves and ran his fingernails through the grass and into the dirt, sinking each finger into its separate, small hole. His reflection stared back at him and he regarded himself so harshly with dry eyes that forgot his former, small child-self.  
  
The books filled with knowledge were rushing through his veins, replacing the blood of sinlessness ignorance. He asked his liquid self, “When you try to progress to become better, does it always lead to destruction? How can something so beautiful become something that isn’t good at all?”  
  
Instantly, at will, his magnificent wings spread out.  
His face remained unchanged as he saw those tainted entities extending from his own back: An ancestral burden imbued as if it were his own punishment.  
  
Then, he lifted up one knee and gestured his hand as if he were acknowledging someone else’s royal presence. His clear eyes closed as he said, “Mother, I will do my best to become the king that will think beyond the immediate. To think of others before myself.”  
  
 **To care. To believe.  
To be strong enough to love and weak enough to be compassionate.  
  
I do not know how to do it because I‘m awkward with my ways and always misunderstood. Please watch over me as you always do.**  
  
With that, he went home to address the people in his older brother’s place. He looked directly at the people with those piercing eyes, a heart that looked so hard and unmoved until he came out of the castle as if he were a commoner to aide the people whenever they needed him…  
  
He made a speech even though he wasn’t one for words. And his words are few and abrupt, but all he could say with conviction was not that of comfort and more than responsibilities. His eyes were like his mother’s: Sad, yet kind.  
“If we do not work together, we‘ve already fallen apart...”  
  
Van watched the people carefully and looked straight at them while thinking of his Mother’s people…  
  
 **To kill one another. To murder your own civilization.  
To drench everything in red…  
  
Is there something stronger than a love that accepts hate?**  
  
#######  
  
After many seasons have passed, he leans on the doorway leading to the balcony and he crosses his arms while staring up at the red moon. His contemplative face always shadows his anger and frustration at the things he knows but still cannot escape from. It is even more than responsibility and being unable to get away from it all, including draining his own blood. It is a matter of moving beyond his own selfish, human nature.  
  
The cold wind blows, but he does not flinch. The tooth of his shoulder blades ache though and the messages of pain shoot directly into his heart.  
He remembers when he was little…  
  
 _/The first time he ran away from home, he tried out his wings again. On the beach, he faced the ocean and tilted his head up to smile sorrowfully towards the sun.  
  
He staggered to the ground, holding the sand with his eyes clenched.  
  
 **Don’t you know that the dragons start out small? They come from the lake filled with water and then they grow? They’re seahorses that rise and learn to fly.  
It is my nature.**  
  
The boy thought of all the people who treated him so indifferently, who smiled at him with fear, and worked with him begrudgingly. He leaned forward more upon the sand and cried out so loudly as feathers slowly came out of his shoulder blades.  
  
“AAAAAHHH~!”  
 **Don’t tell me there’s no use for them because I won’t listen. I’ll not ever listen to you.  
That’s what they’re here for.**  
  
These things didn’t come naturally. They were learned with time, like hate, love, justice, and injustice. Ironically, the more your eyes open, the more that they’re prone to close the ones deep inside.  
  
 **It’s not them that will make me fly.**  
  
With sweating falling to the ground and pieces of clothing flying with the wind, the little boy firmly said, drenched with determination, “I will make them fly and mother won’t cry anymore. There will come a day…  
Someday.”  
  
The face of his mother will be free of infliction and he’ll finally feel at peace./_  
  
  
The young prince pushes himself off and walks over to grasp the railings with his gloved hands. He looks up to the moon and still tastes the sand in his mouth when he first called his wings out from inexistence.  
His brother‘s words reverberate and repeat within him: “Trying to learn to use them hurt so much, but it feels so free too. Sacrifice pain to defeat yourself, be renewed and be redeemed.”  
  
Almost grown up, he still looks for answers to all the contrasting confusion, but the impression of that mix of raw hurt and freedom seeps into his satisfied smile. He thinks about the dream interpretation of how water represents your emotions.  
“I have to drown in order to appreciate what it means to rise above all the things that bind me. To become more than a dragon of the ruined past but a protector of the future.”  
  
 **You don’t fly because you command yourself to.**  
  
Thinking of the wind, Hitomi’s face comes to mind. His teeth show as he smiles wider even though he misses her so much.  
 **It is someone else’s desire and love that allows you to.  
  
Because, wings aren’t meant to fly until they‘re trained to. They’re meant to protect and keep the most important things warm and well cared for inside their embrace. Then, you realize these things are worth more than your own life and give yourself up to them.  
They aren’t to be protected, but shed your weak wings to create strong, sturdy ones.  
  
I now understand…  
That’s why…  
That’s why wings are white.  
  
All the blood and unspoken wants make up the bones. With deep, tender feelings, the filth is cleaned by sincere tears to reveal light, brilliant feathers.  
  
  
And so, your true wings are created by the wishes and intense affection of the person who loves you the most in this world.  
  
  
Owari.**

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know why, but I had this thing running through my head with Van. XD So here’s the fic.  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Love,  
> yui
> 
> Cultural notes -  
> Haha-ue is a very old way of saying Okaa-sama/Mother.


End file.
